


Snowstorm

by Bruce J (HowNovel)



Series: Snowstorm [1]
Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1989-03-10
Updated: 1989-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:25:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Bruce%20J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A classic STARMAN tale about how "War Is Not The Answer."</p><p>The Summer Heat Just Cooled Off.</p><p>6:10pm</p><p>The U.S. Space Shuttle Inferno lifts off from Cape Canaveral. In its cargo bay is the most dangerous military payload ever launched into orbit. The Americans will do anything to protect it. The Soviet Union will stop at nothing to destroy it.</p><p>6:19pm</p><p>Contact with the Inferno is lost, plunging the two superpowers into a tailspin of sabotage, intrigue, and terrorism that threatens to ignite the ultimate war. There's only one "thing" standing between the finger and the button. That "thing" is Scott Hayden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

SCOTT HAYDEN'S STOMACH tightened as he closed in on the interception point. _This is it,_ he thought. _I've finally made it_. He concentrated on the task of piloting his airspeeder and allowed no other thought to distract him. He worked out the tension in his hand by squeezing the control stick. He was in top form this time. Just moments ago, he had finished the obstacle coursea substantial accomplishment in itself, but it merely qualified him for the real test.

The console beeped. He was entering the defense perimeter of the enemy Mothership. Scott glanced at the radar display. A cloud of dots surrounded the enormous craft like a swarm of angry bees: enemy fighters. He prepared to engage them.

Now the Mothership was visible. Its massive bulk hung above the sea, suspended by forces unknown and incomprehensible to Man. Scott was half-alien himself, but he felt no empathy for these invaders. They had come to plunder and destroy. Scott's father, on the other hand, had come to help the Earth, and his son. Scott's unique heritage couldn't help him now. He was just another face in the suicide squads attacking the Mothership. He would probably fail, as so many others had. If so, he'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing he did his best to liberate Earth from the invaders. He was one of the Skyhunters, the last best hope of humanity.

Three enemy 'speeders zoomed towards him. They were much larger and their engines droned ominously. Scott maintained his cool and set his sights on the first challenger. His finger jerked against the fire button and a hot white plasma bolt erupted from the speeder's main gun. The blast hit the port engine of the enemy craft and shredded it. The hapless 'speeder cartwheeled into the surf below and exploded. _Good shot,_ Scott told himself. He was lining up on the second 'speeder when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"We have to go, Scott," Paul Forrester said. Scott gave him a quick, protesting glance, then acquiesced. His assault on the Mothership would have to wait. He shoved the stick all the way forward and his 'speeder crashed into the sea. The words "GAME OVER" flashed persistently on the screen.

"I was almost to the Mothership, Dad," Scott chided.

"It's just a video game, Scott. You can find one in the next town."

They walked out of the 7-11 and got into the car. "We've got to move fast," Paul said, as he started the engine. Noting the dour look on his son's face, he added, "Fox is in the area. We know that."

Scott nodded, but he sulked for a long time. Paul was concerned, but he had learned that teenagers often acted like that for silly reasons, and it was never as bad as it looked.

**********

Robert Barnes was deep in slumber when the phone rang. The noise was horribly loud, and it shattered a pleasant dream he would have preferred to finish. A hazy stupor enveloped him. He tried to shake it off as he reached for the phone. He dragged the receiver to his ear. "Yeah, this is Rob."

Sleep screamed in his eyes as he listened to the insistent voice on the other end. "Okay, Theo. Give me half-an-hour," he mumbled. He swore and dumped the receiver onto the floor. He swung his legs out from underneath the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his eyes, reached for a cigarette, lit it, and took a long draw. He coughed and crushed the remainder in the ashtray. The floor was covered with weeks of dirty laundry and several dozen beer cans from the party the night before. He stood up reluctantly and his sense of balance spun around like a windmill. He wobbled a bit but managed to stay on his feet. He touched his forehead gingerly and cringed.

"I feel like crap," he mumbled to himself, as he stumbled into the bathroom and flipped on the light. "I look like crap," he added, peering through barely open lids at his disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He stepped into the shower, turned the cold water on full, and howled as icy streams sprayed from the shower head. "The only way to start a Monday," he said groggily, as he reached for the soap.

**********

Scott stirred restlessly and snapped awake. For a moment he was disoriented. Then he realized he was in the car and it was moving. "Where are we?" he asked. He stretched some cramps out.

"About a hundred miles south of Denver," Paul said. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," Scott said, massaging a persistent knot in his neck. "What about you?"

Paul shrugged. "I'll take a nap when we get to the motel. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," Scott said. He turned on the radio. "...the Senate is expected to begin debating the President's budget later today. In other news, the space shuttle _Inferno_ is standing by at Cape Canaveral in Florida, ready for a super-secret Defense Department mission. The shuttle is expected to lift off sometime during the next two weeks, but the exact launch time and the duration of the mission are being kept confidential for security reasons...."

Scott fiddled with the dial and settled on a popular-music station. The results sounded more like noise to Paul than anything he would classify as "music," but he tolerated the pandemonium for Scott's sake. Parents sure had to put up with a lot on this planet! Paul grinned at that thought and did his best to concentrate on the road as Scott thumped his hand against his thigh and made a lot of strange noises. And people said that aliens were weird!

**********

The interior of the Mothership was a maze. Hundreds of tunnels and shafts criss-crossed its enormous bulk, but only a dozen or so were big enough for a 'speeder to fly through. One false turn in that labyrinth meant almost certain destruction. Only the shrewdest pilots ever got this far. The rest of them died much sooner.

Rob's eyes watched the viewscreen with total concentration. This was far different from the kind of fighting he had done in the Air Force. There, computers called most of the shots and even did a lot of the flying. But in the chasms of the Mothership, each pilot faced the challenge alone, with only a few crude instruments to help.

Rob relied on his intuition to guide him through the maze. The goal seemed impossible. How could any single pilot hope to defy the brunt of the Mothership? And yet, Rob knew he had to try. The future of Earth depended on victory!

A hostile maintenance robot emerged from a tunnel up ahead and lunged towards him. "Eat this, commie," Rob grunted, as he tapped the fire button repeatedly and blew it to bits.

A voice intruded on his communion with his 'speeder. His concentration wavered and he cut into a turn too early. The 'speeder smashed into the electrified lining of the tunnel and was obliterated.

"Way to go, Major Dweeb," Rob shouted. "You made me crash!"

Theodore Caswell responded with an exasperated gasp. "Rob, we're supposed to be at the Base in five minutes!"

Rob grabbed his jacket. "Okay, let's go, already."

"Did you remember your pills?" Theo asked. (Not only was Theo the better part of Rob's conscience, he was also the better part of Rob's memory. Which was one of the number one reasons why Rob had always hung on to Theo's friendship...it seemed to be the only thing he hadn't messed up in his life.)

"No," Rob said. "Good thing you reminded me." They went into the bathroom and Rob took a vial of tetracycline capsules out of the medicine chest.

"I'd hate to see you if you didn't take those," Theo kidded.

Rob laughed. "Yeah. Zits in space." He slipped the vial into one of the pockets of his flight suit.

Theo chuckled, then looked at him intently. "Are you hung over?"

"A little. It's nothing. I took some aspirin already," Rob said, leaving the bathroom. "Now where did I put my shades?"

Theo was using the toilet. "They're in the bomber," he said.

Rob looked at the fleet of plastic airplanes hanging from the centerfold-covered ceiling, spotted his sunglasses in the bomb compartment of a B-2 Stealth model, and plucked them out.

Theo came out of the bathroom and looked at the SKYHUNTER video game distastefully. "Why did you buy that stupid thing, anyway?"

"It psyches me up," Rob answered, putting the sunglasses on. "Let's go." He checked his answering machine and the alarm on the gun case. Then he and Theo left the apartment, locked up, and got into Rob's Porsche. "Besides," Rob said, as he peeled out, "it's not just any game. It's the best video game in history. Millions of kids would kill to own one."

"Oh yes, I'm sure they would. That's your basic problem, you know. You're a kid that never grew up."

Rob ignored the sarcasm. "That's right," he said with a cheerful smile. "why do you think I became an astronaut? And why do you think I still have acne?" The grin widened, and Theo couldn't help but smile.

**********

"I'll go get us some more towels," Scott said, after he and Paul had settled down in their motel room.

"Okay," Paul said. He was stretched out on one of the beds reading a newspaper. 

Scott paused at the door. "Why don't you try to get some sleep now," he suggested.

"Okay. But I'm going to check the paper for a job first."

Scott shrugged and left. He walked around to the motel office. The manager was a balding, heavy-set man named Steve Jeffries, who was reading the latest issue of Open Mind magazine. "Whaddya want?" he asked, without looking up.

"Some more towels, please," Scott said politely.

"Sorry, no extra towels," Jeffries said.

"What about blankets?"

"No extra blankets, either. Whaddya think this is, a luxury hotel?"

"Sorry," Scott apologized. "Uh, would you happen to know where the nearest SKYHUNTER video game would be?"

"Try the mall in town. They got all kinds of video games. My kid spends hours in that place." He finally looked up at Scott. "I'd watch it, kid. Those things'll burn your eyes out. Radioactive tubes."

"I'll be careful," Scott said diplomatically. "Thanks."

"Not that it makes any difference," Jeffries muttered, as he watched the boy exit. "We're all going to get nuked anyway."

**********

"By the way, it was really bright of you to get drunk last night," Theo chastised, as Rob slipped the Porsche into a parking stall by the F-16 hanger of Ellington Air Force Base.

"I'm not the one that changed the timetable," Rob protested, as they got out. "What are you worried about, anyway? I feel fine.

"You knew they were going to move the launch day up if they could. The General will crap bricks if he finds out you're smashed."

"Then give him a laxative," Rob said. Theo looked at him sharply, then laughed. "Relax," Rob said. "I'm the pilot, Theo. They aren't going to launch without me."

"I wouldn't bet on it. You better watch your butt, Rob. Your carousing almost got you thrown out of NASA once. Don't you remember Fort Lauderdale?"

"Who would want to forget it?" Rob replied flippantly. They walked into the hangar and General Mitchell Epstein was waiting for them. "Good morning, gentlemen." He looked at Barnes. "Are you ready for takeoff, Colonel?"

"Yes sir," Rob said.

"Well, there's no rush," Epstein said. "Liftoff's been delayed for at least eight hours. There's a problem with a fuel pump, so they're replacing it."

Rob pointed at Theo. " _He_ was worried about being late."

"Colonel Barnes was playing that video game of his, I bet," the General said, brushing some miniature bits of fluff off his hat.

Caswell nodded. "Yes sir. I think he likes it because he's trying to have a second childhood."

The General's blue-grey eyes snapped up. "Oh really? I thought he liked it because of the name."

The three of them laughed.

**********

When Scott came back to the motel room, he found Paul fast asleep. Most of the newspaper was discarded on the floor, but the neatly-folded "Help Wanted" section was lying on the nightstand. Scott picked it up; Paul had circled an opening at a local photography studio: "Experienced photographer needed immediately..." Good. Maybe they'd be able to stay here for awhile, if Paul could get a job.

Scott scribbled a note on a Domino's pizza flyer and quietly left the room again. He was going to catch the bus downtown and find that mall.

**********

Rob climbed out of the F-16 he had flown from Houston to Canaveral and took off his helmet. A NASA van was waiting for him, but before he got into it, the young astronaut turned to look at launch pad 39B. The _Inferno_ was aimed towards the sky, ready for its second flight into space. Rob had been the pilot on her first mission too, when the deep space probe _Odyssey 3_ was launched.

"She's waiting for you," the van driver said.

Rob smiled, nodded, and got into the van.

**********

Scott was quite annoyed. The video game palace at the mall had three SKYHUNTER consoles and all of them had at least five kids waiting to play. Scott stood across from them and shook his head in dismay.

"It's almost always like this," someone said.

"Huh?" Scott turned around. A teenager with sandy blond hair and sparkling blue eyes was standing next to him. "I'm Jason Jeffries," the kid said, offering his hand.

Scott shook it. "Scott Hayden. Jeffries? Does your dad run the Motel 6?"

"That's right. Are you staying there?"

"Yeah," Scott said. He pointed at the games. "Are there any others in town?"

"No," Jason said. "But if we come back later it won't be so busy."

"Great," Scott said. "What else is there to do in this town?"

"Well, we have a theater. Wanna see a movie?"

"You betcha." Scott walked out of the video palace with his new friend, all thoughts of SKYHUNTER and Motherships temporarily forgotten.

**********

"Have you got Theo's gadget?" Mission commander Jasper Nelson asked Rob, after they'd done their pre-flight check. They were strapped into their seats in the _Inferno_ 's cockpit, preparing for launch.

"Yes sir," Rob said. He pulled a can of Coke and an odd muzzling device out of one of his deep pockets. He snapped the device onto the can and a short straw popped out of the top.

"Not bad," Nelson said. "How does it work?"

"You just press the button and suck," Rob explained. He demonstrated. "Oh, better take my pills." He got two of his tetracycline capsules out, which was a bit of a challenge because he was lying on his back. He chased the pills down with another squirt of Coke. He wiped his mouth and looked at Nelson with a grin on his face. "We don't want any whiteheads exploding in orbit."

Nelson chuckled. "And I thought all we had to worry about was warheads." His face became more serious. "Are you ready to bring that Ruskie ASAT down?"

"I was born ready," Rob replied. He glanced at one of the monitors. They were five minutes from liftoff.

**********

"You're just the man we've been looking for, Mr. Forrester," Grace Simmons said. "The job is yours. There's just one more thingyou didn't put an address on your application."

Paul hesitated. "I'm staying at the Motel Six. I don't have an address right now."

"Oh, I see. Well, when you get a place, let us know, won't you?"

"Yes, of course." He smiled, relieved that she was willing to accept a temporary address. A lot of employers wouldn't hire without a permanent address, and Paul didn't have oneexcept for the old Paul Forrester's apartment in Chicago, and the new Paul had never been there and probably never would be.

"Excellent. Let's discuss your salary now. I'm afraid what I can offer may not be what you've been used to. Is two thousand dollars a month enough?"

"Yes," Paul said. "That will be fine."

**********

"Six...main engine start...four...three...two. We have SRB start, we have liftoff, and the vehicle has cleared the tower," the controller at Kennedy was saying.

Rob's heart pounded as he felt the _Inferno_ 's engines release their full fury. Three g's of acceleration pushed him deep into his chair as the shuttle rose. Now that the liftoff had been accomplished, control of the mission was switched to the Johnson Space Center in Houston, where Theo Caswell and General Epstein monitored the progress of the liftoff.

"Execute roll maneuver, _Inferno_ ," Theo said.

"Copy control," Rob reported. "Roll maneuver successful." The shuttle was now properly oriented for its desired orbit.

" _Inferno_ , this is control. Throttle, over."

"Copy control," Rob said, as he eased the throttles down. "Main engines at sixty-five percent." This was the most critical part of the launch, when the shuttle experienced the most aerodynamic stress. It was just after that period that the ill-fated _Challenger_ blew up.

They passed the infamous 73-second mark without incident. "Throttle up, _Inferno_ ," Caswell instructed.

"Copy control, full throttle up. Main engines one-hundred percent." Rob pushed the throttles back up and relaxed. The most dangerous part of the launch was over now. For a minute or so there was nothing to do but enjoy the ride. The _Inferno_ rose gracefully on the fire after which it was named; Rob had never felt a smoother liftoff. Then it was time to drop the solid rocket boosters.

"Go for SRB sep, over," Theo said.

"Copy control," Rob said. Jasper Nelson, the commander, flipped the separation switch. The solid boosters parted from the external tank and fell back towards the ocean. "We have SRB sep," Rob said. Again, not much to do for a few minutes.

Then they were approaching orbit. "You're lookin' good, _Inferno_ ," Caswell said. "Press to MECO, over."

"Copy control." Rob eased the throttles down all the way. "MECO is on schedule. Preparing for OMS burn, over." With the main engines cut off (MECO), _Inferno_ navigated with its orbital maneuvering system (OMS). The giant fuel tank, which had been cast away over the Indian ocean on most previous missions, was now taken into orbit with the shuttle. The tanks were used as platforms for observations and ongoing space experiments.

"OMS burn successful," Rob reported. "Orbit achieved." They cruised for about twenty minutes, then fired the OMS again to make the orbit circular.

"Open CDB's," Nelson instructed.

"Roger," Rob said. He typed in the code to open the cargo bay doors. The shuttle was flying "upside-down" with the cargo bay facing Earth. Opening the doors was always a crucial first step in the orbital procedure because the craft used radiators in the doors to get rid of excess heat.

" _Inferno_ , go for tank evacuation sequence, over," Theo said.

"Copy control. TES is engaged." Rob punched in the ignition sequence for the main engines. They would be fired again at minimum power until every last bit of propellant in the external tank was exhausted. Otherwise, the huge tank would pressurize and explode.

Rob pressed the throttles forward again.

**********

"That was a great movie," Scott said, as he and Jason walked out of REVENGE OF THE MARTIAN LEGION. "The book was better, though."

"Aren't they always?" Jason replied. He looked at his watch. "Hey, the crowds at the mall should have thinned out a little by now. Let's grab a bite to eat and head back there."

**********

When Paul returned from his interview, he read Scott's note again and decided his son might be gone for quite awhile, especially if was trying to save the video Universe again. He tore off one of the pizza coupons and ordered a pizza. Then he took a quick shower, put on some fresh clothes, and sat down to watch the TV.

**********

The President of the United States listened as Helen Thomas, the AP's venerable reporter, quizzed him about education spending. "The emphasis, Helen," he began to answer, "is not on where those revenues are going to come from, but rather on how effectively they are spent. In my new budget, I"

The President was interrupted by Austin Jennings, his National Security Advisor, who whispered in his ear for a moment. The President nodded curtly and turned back to the podium. "That will be all for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Please excuse me." He was quickly escorted out of the room by his staff, leaving the press corps to wonder about his abrupt departure. 

"What is it?" The President asked, when he and Jennings were safely out of earshot.

"It's the space shuttle _Inferno_ , sir. We've lost contact with it."

The President had planned to spend a quiet evening walking his dog after the press conference. Now he had to deal with a crisis. What a way to ruin an otherwise pleasant Monday. "Get everyone together in the cabinet room," he said resignedly. "And for heaven's sake, don't let anyone on the Hill know yet."

"Yes sir. Anything else?"

The President thought for a moment. "Yes. Do you know George Fox?"

"Yes sir. Wasn't he Director of FSA under Ford?"

"Yes. He's their agent for special actions now. I want him here, too."

Jennings looked shocked. "Sir, you don't think that aliens are involved, do you?"

"Not necessarily. Just get him here as quickly as possible."

"Yes sir."

**********

"We're getting closer to them, sir," Agent Ben Wylie said, as he drove a late-model Ford sedan.

"Close isn't good enough, Wylie," his superior, George Fox, retorted. "If we don't catch Forrester and the boy soon, the Pentagon's going to cut our funding off. We've got to get some hard results now."

"They can't have gotten too far, sir. We'll" Wylie was cut off by a strange squawking noise.

"Stop the car, Wylie." Fox looked at the back seat as the car drifted to a halt. The metal suitcase in the rear of the car was honking like a goose.

Wylie's broad face burst into surprise. "It's the special phone, Mr. Fox!"

George leaned back and opened the suitcase. He picked up the red phone and entered the security code on the terminal. "Fox here." He listened intently, then hung up without another word.

"Turn the car around, Wylie. We're going back to Washington."

**********

Scott felt adrenaline rush through his veins. He was inside the Mothership! He was flying blindly through the tunnels, relying on instinct to guide him. Then his 'speeder suddenly plunged and burst into a multi-colored cloud of pixels. Scott shook his head. He felt strange all of the sudden. For a moment, he wondered what could be wrong. Then it occurred to him that his dad might be trying to contact him with the sphere.

"Let's go," he said to Jason. "I've got to get back."

Jason turned away from his own game unhappily. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Dang," he said, under his breath. He slapped the control stick and his 'speeder perished.

**********

Paul was enjoying his third slice of pepperoni pineapple when Scott burst in. He was visibly anxious. "Dad, is everything okay?"

Paul looked at him in alarm. "Yes. Why?"

Scott explained what had happened. "Did you use the sphere to try to call me?"

"No," Paul said, concerned and intrigued. "Tell me again. Can you tell me exactly what you were thinking and how you felt?"

Scott shrugged. "Sure."

**********

" _Inferno_ , this is control, over," Theo Caswell said insistently. "This is mission control, do you copy?"

Small crackles of static was the only reply. There was no audio, no telemetry. The _Inferno_ was either destroyed or dead.

General Epstein walked over to him. "NORAD's still tracking her. They think she's intact, but it's too early to be sure of that. What do you think happened?"

"Well, sir, the way I see it there are only two possibilities: one, an uncontained engine failure."

"Uncontained engine failure?" Epstein repeated.

"Yes sir," Theo said. "An explosion, in other words. But the preliminary radar data doesn't seem to support that conclusion, so we must consider the second, more unpleasant one."

"And what is that?"

Theo looked grim. "Sabotage, sir. Sabotage."

**********

When Rob awoke he had a splitting headache. For a moment he was disoriented. When he opened his eyes they were greeted by a soft melange of blue and brown light. It was the reflected light of the immense planet below, and that Earthshine was the only light in the cockpit. He swore. Had his weak system given out on him? If I passed out I'll never live it down, he thought. But as he surveyed his surroundings, it became clear that something much worse than a fainting spell had happened.

Rob gasped out loud as he glanced around. Every system in the shuttle was dead. The _Inferno_ was as dark and silent as a tomb. Which it was. At first, Rob had assumed that Nelson was also asleep. But then he noticed that the commander's eyes were open, fixed in the glassy, sightless stare of death. A quick check for the man's pulse confirmed the irrevocable condition.

Rob undid his restraints and floated out of his seat. The two mission specialists were like Nelsondead. Rob felt his stomach whirl and his breathing grow frantic. He dived for the pitch-dark mid-deck and held onto one of the empty seats there. Tears streamed from his eyes as he sought to regain control of himself. Vomiting in zero gravity was potentially dangerousnot to mention incredibly messy.

After a time, the spasms faded and his breathing slowed. The terror was gone for now, but it might return at any moment. This wasn't a hallucination or a nightmare. It was real. Rob half expected to see Rod Serling step out of the shadows any moment. This was his own twilight zone, and now that he had control of himself again, he was faced with the task of trying to determine what had gone wrong, and why he alone was alive on a dead shuttle full of corpses.


	2. Chapter 2

Continued From Part 1

"DO YOU FEEL anything strange now?" Paul Forrester asked his son.

Scott was perplexed. "No. I feel fine now. I don't know how to explain it exactly. It was like I blanked out for a second, and then I had that weird feeling. I thought you were trying to call me with the sphere."

Paul frowned and fingered his chin. "No, I'm sorry. It must have been something else. If it's okay, I'd like to use the sphere to probe your memories. That way, I can experience what you did. Can you try to relive it?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, okay." He closed his eyes and tried to remember where he had been in the game and how he felt. Meanwhile, Paul took out his sphere. Its silver surface began to glow blue, transformed by the light within it.

Scott had been guiding the 'speeder through the Mothership's labyrinth of tunnels. He had been so excited, because he'd never been inside before. Then, that curious instant of distraction came. The 'speeder crashed and that odd feeling grabbed hold of him for a couple of seconds. Scott opened his eyes.

The light of Paul's sphere faded. "You're sure it wasn't something in the game that caused it?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Paul was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'm not sure what happened, Scott. Don't worry about it, but if it happens again let me know right away."

Scott nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah, I will."

"I'm going to get ready for bed now," Paul said. "I need more sleep. You should get some, too." He walked towards the bathroom.

Scott nodded and turned the TV on. He flipped through the channels. Suddenly, the words "SPECIAL REPORT" flashed on one of them and he left the dial there.

"Good evening, this is Dan Rather in New York. As you may know already, the President's press conference was cut short today, possibly by a crisis of some sort. Our sources tell us the President is meeting with his advisors at the White House, and that an emergency session of Congress has been called. Let's go now to our correspondent at the Capitol—"

Scott switched the TV off. A crisis in Washington? That couldn't possibly have anything to do with his strange feeling. Or could it? Scott's heart pounded and his breaths became short. He felt that yes, there was a connection, but he didn't know what it was. He started to call his dad, then changed his mind and didn't, deciding instead to wait until he was sure.

****** 

Marlin Hewitt, the Director of the Federal Security Agency, was the only one in the Cabinet room when Austin Jennings walked in. "Where's the President?" Hewitt asked.

"He's taking his blood pressure medication," Jennings said. "Do you know why he wants George Fox here?"

"They're old friends. Roommates at Harvard. George was the best man at his wedding. They still play a chess game now and then. And don't forget that little incident in Wisconsin."

Again, Jennings looked incredulous, but he also looked concerned. "Do you really think E.T.'s are involved in this?"

Hewitt shrugged. "I wouldn't bet money on it, not at this stage. But in a situation like this we can't afford to take any chances."

"There have been a lot of negative rumors circulating about Fox," Jennings said. "Any truth to them?"

Hewitt shrugged. "I don't think so. He's a bit fanatical, but he puts it to good use. A lot of people, both in the military and the FSA, just don't believe his assertion that there are real aliens here."

"But you believe him."

"Of course. I've seen the evidence at Peagrum. Look, about Fox. The President trusts his judgment and values his opinion, so we'd better do the same. If aliens are involved, Fox is our man. He knows more about the subject than anyone."

Jennings nodded, but still appeared to be uncomfortable with the whole idea.

The President walked in. "Where's George?" he asked, as he sat at the head of the Cabinet table.

"He's in Colorado, sir," Hewitt answered. "He's being flown here in an F-22A. He'll be here in about two hours."

The President nodded, then turned to Jennings. "What do the controllers at NASA think? What went wrong?"

"They're not sure, sir, but they think one of the main engines may have exploded. There was a problem with a fuel pump that delayed the launch, but it was replaced. Elmendorf is going to send an SR-71 up and try to take some pictures. Until then it's anyone's guess."

The President nodded. "What kind of men are we dealing with?"

Jennings opened a dossier. "The commander, Jarvis Nelson, is a civilian. He's forty-two years old; this is his sixth mission. He was a commercial airline pilot for fifteen years prior to his astronaut training. The pilot is Robert Michael Barnes, an Air Force Colonel. He's young—twenty-eight—and he's a bit of a renegade. But his encyclopedic knowledge of military hardware and procedures have made him a valuable asset on missions like this."

"Wasn't there a disciplinary action of some kind?" Hewitt asked. "I seem to recall reading a memo or something."

Jennings nodded. "Sexual harassment charge. He was reprimanded. He's got a record, but it's all traffic-ticket level."

"Anything else unusual?" The President asked.

Jennings read the dossier for a moment. "He's been into Bethesda several times, but it's just minor stuff. Acne, that sort of thing."

The President nodded.

The Defense Secretary, Patrick Cavanaugh, burst into the room. "Now we're really screwed," he said in exasperation. He handed the President a sheet of paper. "Look at that."

The President's eyes swept the page. Then he let it fall to the table. "Oh my God."

"That's what I said," Cavanaugh replied, in his Texas drawl. He looked at Jennings and Hewitt. "The Soviets launched their shuttle five minutes ago."

"Damn," Hewitt said. He looked at the President. "As unpalatable as it may sound, sir, I think we need to consider the possibility of sabotage."

"I'm afraid you're right," the President said. His gaze fell to the sheet of paper. "The Soviets haven't said anything about a launch. It can't be a coincidence."

Cavanaugh looked at Hewitt. "How long has their shuttle been on the launch pad?"

"Almost a month. Their next mission was reportedly going to launch a Mars probe, but the window for that doesn't open for another two weeks."

"Mars probe," Cavanaugh snarled. "That's a load of crap. Can that thing rendezvous with ours?"

"Yes," Jennings answered. "It certainly could."

Hewitt's face turned grave. "Is this a reasonable scenario, gentlemen? With all the increased security, is such drastic sabotage a real possibility?"

"I couldn't rule it out," Jennings said. "But I couldn't tell you the relative likelihood of it, either. We know they've stolen most of the technology that went into the design of our shuttles. It's no accident theirs looks almost identical to ours. Security is tight at Canaveral, but for all we know a KGB mole has been hiding in deep cover all along, just waiting for a situation like this to come along. It shouldn't be too hard to check the personnel out. Only a very select group of people would have enough access to pull it off-one of the senior technicians, or maybe an astronaut."

The President nodded. "I take it, gentlemen, that you will all agree with me on one critical point: no matter what happens, the Inferno's cargo must not be allowed to fall into enemy hands—Soviet or otherwise."

Cavanaugh nodded vigorously. "That's unacceptable."

"If the Russians are responsible," Hewitt said, "we're in big trouble. Even if we remove the saboteur, it would take at least two weeks to launch a recovery mission."

The President was suddenly stricken by an appalling thought. "What about the crew?" he asked. "Any chance of rescue?"

"None, I'm afraid," Jennings said gravely. "And as unfortunate as it seems, I fear we must consider them expendable. The payload must be our primary consideration."

The President nodded reluctantly. "Yes, I'm afraid you're right." He wiped the sweat off his brow. He looked at Hewitt falteringly. "What do you think we should do?"

"We wait and watch. The pictures from the Blackbird should tell us a lot. We must be very cautious about what we say and do, gentlemen. If this situation gets out of hand it could go all the way. To World War Three."

****** 

Robert Barnes sat in his chair on the flight deck of the Inferno, pondering his fate and trying to decide what he should do next. He had taken the bodies of his dead colleagues down to the mid-deck, where they were at least out of sight, if not out of mind.

He marshalled the facts one by one. All his attempts to restore power to the orbiter had failed. Without at least one of the shuttle's Auxiliary Power Units functional, there was no hope for re-entry into the atmosphere and return to Earth. The last thing he could remember before he blacked out was igniting the main engines for the TES burn. He didn't know if the burn had actually started, but it probably hadn't. He peered out through the cockpit windows. The tank was still attached to the shuttle. Within a matter of hours, the residual propellant inside it would vaporize, pressurizing it. The pressure would eventually cause the tank to explode, destroying the orbiter in the process. One of his first jobs would be to separate the tank manually.

The availability of oxygen was another critical consideration. With the delivery systems inoperative, Rob had only a few hours' worth of breathable air in the cabin. The spacesuits on the mid-deck could keep him alive for much longer, but not for the days or weeks that it might take to mount a rescue. Things didn't look very encouraging. Even the toilet wouldn't work without power.

One thing Rob had in his favor was the fact that some of the best minds on Earth would be trying to figure out what had gone wrong and how to fix it. The best way to help them would be to check everything out. I shouldn't be up here sulking, Rob thought. There are plenty of things I could be doing.

He still didn't understand what had happened, and why Nelson and the two mission specialists were dead. And he still had that splitting headache, which made it very difficult to concentrate on anything. In a situation as extreme as this, though, there were only a few factors that needed to be taken into consideration. This was obviously a major failure, affecting the entire orbiter. The most likely cause was an explosion in one of the main engines. Such an explosion could destroy the APU's, paralyzing the craft. Hadn't Epstein said something about a fuel pump? But engine failure didn't explain the mysterious deaths or his blackout. Rob mentally went over the many "fault trees" he had reviewed in his training. The trees were diagrams which detailed everything that could go wrong in each shuttle system at various times throughout the mission. But that soon proved to be as fruitless as chasing a windmill. There were just too many possibilities and not enough evidence to decide between them.

"I need some facts," Rob whispered, as he watched the beautiful Earth turn beneath him. He unstrapped, grabbed his flashlight, and started a visual inspection.

****** 

"Goodnight, Scott," Paul said.

"Goodnight, Dad." Scott was still distressed by what had happened, enough so that he thought he'd have trouble sleeping. He remembered those awful weeks after his foster parents were killed in an accident he'd felt responsible for, when he'd had horrible nightmares every night. It was after one of those episodes that he unconsciously "called" his real father with his sphere. Now his dad was back on Earth to help him, this time in a clone of photographer Paul Forrester's dead and buried body. Those bad nights were over now. Scott's thoughts of guilt vanished when Paul showed him that it was a deer-not Scott-that had distracted his foster father, with the accident as a result. Being freed from that guilt lifted a tremendous burden from Scott.

After that his nights were peaceful, as was this one. Scott would have been surprised, if he was capable of being so. He fell asleep much faster and much easier than he expected to. Darkness folded around him, and around his dreams. Out of that darkness came a fuzzy blue glow. At first Scott thought it was the sphere, but then it slowly drifted into focus and he realized that it was the Earth.

****** 

"Oh my God," Rob gasped, all thoughts of engine failures swept utterly from his mind. For a moment he was in danger of being sick again, and it took all his willpower to maintain what sanity he had left. He was hyperventilating, sweating profusely, and his eyes were swollen with horror. He turned the flashlight's beam on the small orange canister again and his heart nearly leaped into his throat.

It was nerve gas. The Inferno had been sabotaged, booby trapped to shut itself down and kill its own crew. Rob could think of only one reason why: the cargo. NASA knew that it had lost contact with the shuttle, but they didn't know about the deaths. They'd go on assuming a catastrophic engine failure, or something similar, had happened.

A chilling thought crept back and forth inside Rob's mind, tormenting him. He should be just as dead as the others. He had survived the gas somehow, even though that should be impossible. His headache and the blackout, he suspected, were side effects of the toxin. He decided that being alive was the important thing. He could turn his survival into an advantage. The eventual recovery of the Inferno and its cargo hinged on the fate of the external tank. If it blew up, any chance of recovery was destroyed as well. He wasn't sure how long the tank would stay intact, but he probably only had a matter of hours. Without power, he couldn't trigger the explosives that would separate the tank from the orbiter. But he could do an EVA and manually detonate them. The force of the explosions would move the tank away from the shuttle and take it out of danger.

It would probably be the last thing he ever did. He had no illusions about being rescued. After the tank had been separated from the orbiter, he could rocket away and watch the Earth for awhile. Then, in a flash, he could slice his oxygen line, and in seconds it would all be over. The one thing he didn't want was a prolonged death, although his miraculous survival of the nerve gas was something disturbingly similar.

The video camera on board had its own light and batteries, so it could still be used. Rob positioned the flashlight on a metal cabinet and it adhered with a magnetic click. Then he taped the camera in place and started dictating his final farewell to his friends and family. He was extremely calm considering the circumstances, but he had to be. The only alternative was to plunge into madness.

****** 

The President, the Defense Secretary, and the National Security Advisor were on their feet talking by the door of the cabinet room when George Fox came in. "Hello Mr. President," Fox greeted.

"Good to see you, George. You know Patrick and Austin."

"Yes, of course. Good evening, gentlemen." Fox shook hands with Cavanaugh and Jennings.

"Have you been briefed, George?" The President asked.

"Yes sir. I stopped by FSA Central first and Director Hewitt briefed me. He should be back with the photos from the Blackbird soon." 

There was a polite knock on the door. "Come," the President said.

His secretary came in. "Sir, the Speaker is on the line. He wants to have a word with you."

"Tell him I'll call him back in a few minutes."

"Yes sir." She turned and left.

"Great," the President said. "Now I'll have to deal with Congress. What should I tell them?"

Jennings spoke up. "For now, let's give them a communications failure story. It could still be true, and I think we're much better off keeping the rest of it to ourselves until we know for sure what we're dealing with."

The President nodded and looked at his watch. "We don't have much time."

"The networks know something's going on, sir," Fox said. "And they know the shuttle took off. It won't take them long to put two and two together. Then we'll really be in a mess."

The President thought for a moment, then asked: "George, what's your opinion?"

"Well, I'm not sure what to think, sir. As you know, I've been out of the mainstream of the FSA for some time. I can't speculate any better than you can."

The President nodded. "Just the same, I'd like you to stick around. I'd appreciate the benefit of your experience. I just hope we don't need any expertise learned from your unusual calling."

Fox smiled a tight-lipped smile. "Yes sir."

Hewitt burst into the room with a an armload of large photographs, the pictures taken by the SR-71 Blackbird. "Here we are, gentlemen. It seems that the Inferno is indeed intact. No sign of engine failure. The tank is still attached. And NORAD reports that the Soviet shuttle is in an interception orbit."

There was a protracted silence as they considered the implications of that statement. All eyes came to rest on the President, and he seemed uncomfortably aware of their scrutiny. Finally he turned to Jennings. "Summon Mr. Golotsky as discreetly as possible. I'd like to have a private conference with him in my office."

"Yes sir," Jennings said. He left.

The President sat down. "Well gentlemen, let's see what their ambassador has to say. Then I'll have to deal with the Hill. And the public."

****** 

"You're sure you don't want me to stay?" Theo Caswell asked, for about the third time.

General Epstein shook his head. "Go on. If anything's going to happen, it'll happen at Edwards. Even if power to the orbiter's restored, they'll come right down. I just hope there'll be something for you to meet there."

Theo smiled. "That's right, sir. Think positive. They're tough hombres. It would take a lot more than an engine failure to do them in."

The General nodded. "It's a good crew. They'll do whatever they can to get her operational again. Have a good flight."

****** 

Approximately half of the nation's Senators were milling about in their chamber, uncertain of what to do. Rumors about the President's interrupted press conference abounded, but there were few facts. Even the Vice President didn't know what was going on. There was only so much that could be said about so little (although Senators excelled at that), so the tide of conversation gradually turned to more arcane matters like the President's budget.

****** 

After Rob had taped his swan song, he found the silence of the inert shuttle oppressive. The air in the cabin was getting fetid and the darkness wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket of black. He shivered involuntarily and realized it was getting cold. He decided there was no point in putting off the EVA, but found himself unable to shake his brooding. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He whirled around and yelped in surprise.

"Oh God," he gasped. "Now I know I'm hallucinating." There was a slender teenage boy floating weightlessly by the open hatch to the mid deck. He had tousled brown hair and his eyes were full of fear, like Rob's own.

"Where am I?" the kid asked.

"Oh great," Rob said. "A talking hallucination. Who are you?"

"Scott. Scott Hayden. Who are you?"

****** 

"NASA astronaut Robert Barnes, at your service. But you probably know that already. Aren't you a figment of my imagination or something?"

Scott shook his head, and the motion sent him drifting. "No." He looked around. "Where are we?"

"In space," Rob said. "The space shuttle Inferno, to be exact." With a gentle shove, Rob pushed away from his flight deck chair and floated to Scott. He squeezed Scott's arm. "Well, you feel real."

"I am real," Scott said. "But I don't know why I'm here." Scott drifted over to window, and gasped at the beauty of the Earth below. "I always wanted to make it into space."

"It looks like you made it," Rob said. "How did you get here?"

Scott looked confused. "I'm not sure. I was dreaming, I think."

"Oh really? You just dreamed yourself up here? Can you dream us out of here?"

"I don't think so," Scott replied. "It's more complicated than that." He paused. How could he explain without telling everything? He couldn't. "I think I know why I'm here, but it'll take me a while to explain. And you might not believe it."

"Heck, if I can believe you're here, I can believe just about anything."

Scott smiled. He told Rob the whole story, haltingly at first. Rob interrupted with an occasional question, but for the most part he just let Scott ramble.

"...ever since then we've just been trying to avoid Fox and look for my mom," Scott concluded. He pulled his sphere out of his pocket. "See, this is the sphere." He looked at it and it began to glow, filling the cabin with a soft blue radiance.

Rob chuckled. "Oh, this is just great. You know, I had a class at NASA that was all about what to do in the unlikely event that we ran into aliens. We all laughed; thought it was funny. I never expected it would be anything like this. You don't even look threatening."

"I'm not. What's wrong? How come all the lights are out?"

"Here, I'll show you." Scott followed Rob down onto the mid deck. Rob showed him the nerve gas canister and the bodies. Their morbid countenances, illuminated by the sphere's eerie glow, were a chilling sight.

"CYA?" Scott said, reading the label on the innocent-looking orange canister. "What's that?"

"Nerve gas. It was used in the Iran-Iraq war. It's made in Libya. Those commies booby-trapped this baby, but they made a mistake. I'm still alive."

"Sabotage?" Scott said disbelievingly.

"Yep." Rob suddenly thought of something. He slapped his hand against the side of his head. "My God!"

"What?" Scott said. "What's wrong."

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. But I just remembered something about the Russian shuttle being on the launch pad."

"Is that who did this? The Russians?"

"Probably," Rob said.

"Why?"

Rob mused for a moment, trying to decide wether or not he should say anything about the Inferno's secret payload. Finally he made up his mind. "You want to know why? I'll show you." He drifted up to the windows that looked over the cargo bay.

Scott joined him. "I heard something on the radio about a secret mission. Is that what this is?"

"It's what this was," Rob answered. He nodded out the window. "See that thing? It's a satellite."

Scott still didn't understand. "A satellite? Why would that make the Russians sabotage a shuttle and kill people? Is it some kind of spy satellite?"

"Not exactly. This is no ordinary satellite. Have you ever played the video game SKYHUNTER?"

Scott nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it's the greatest."

"I own one," Rob said. "But this is the real Skyhunter. It's a killer satellite."

Realization dawned on Scott's face. "Oh, I see. It hunts down and destroys other satellites, right?"

"Yeah, but that's not all. It can hunt down missiles and spacecraft, too. It was originally built to take out Russian Early Warning satellites, but now we're more concerned about anti-satellite weapons on their side."

"Early warning?" Scott repeated.

"Yeah. It's a special kind of satellite that can detect missile launchings. You see, if we destroy their satellites at an opportune moment, say during a solar flare, we can launch our missiles and they won't be able to detect them until it's too late. We hit their silos and take out their missiles before they have a chance to launch them in retaliation. That greatly limits the amount of damage they can inflict on us."

Scott looked concerned. "Isn't that unethical?"

Rob laughed in derision. "Since when was war ethical? It's a violation of treaty, if that's what you mean."

Scott nodded. "Is it one of those Star Wars things?"

"No. Those are defensive weapons. This is an offensive weapon. It's designed to strike first."

"That is offensive," Scott remarked.

****** 

Sergei Golotsky, the ambassador from the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, was not a man of idle conversation. He showed no reaction as the President explained to him that he believed that the Inferno had been sabotaged. "We have ample reason to believe your government is responsible for this action," he concluded.

"Preposterous," Golotsky said, speaking for the first time. "We are socialists, not terrorists, Mr. President. Do you mean to tell me you have interrupted my evening just to deliver this ridiculous insult?"

The President folded his arms so his fingertips were touching. "I didn't summon you to play games, Mr. Golotsky. I know exactly what your government wants and it's not going to get it. If your cosmonauts so much as come within a hundred miles of the Inferno, it will be considered an act of war."

"If you'll excuse me," Golotsky said, in his modulated accent, "I'll return to my embassy and consult with the President."

"Yes," the President said, with a cold, threatening gaze. "You do that."

****** 

"Look at this," Scott said. A picture was forming in the depths of the sphere. He and Robert peered down into it and found themselves looking at...Scott!

"It's you!" Rob exclaimed. "Look, you are asleep!"

"But if that's me," Scott protested, "who am I?"

"Maybe your alien half can exist independently from your human half," Rob speculated. "Have you ever had an out-of-body experience before?"

"No. I've been perfectly happy inside my body."

Rob smiled. "Don't leave home without it! Well, it looks like you did this time." He touched Scott's arm again. "But I don't know what this is. It feels like a body to me. Maybe we're in a parallel universe or something."

"Yeah," Scott said absently. "Hey, it's the shuttle!"

Rob looked back into the sphere. The picture had changed. "No, that's not the Inferno. The shape is a little different." The ghostly apparition moved "closer" as though it was passing them. "It's the Buran," Rob said. "See the hammer and sickle on the front? It's the Russian shuttle."

"Buran?" Scott said.

"Yeah. Buran means 'Snowstorm' in Russian." He looked at his watch; it had been almost three hours since the launch. "We'd better get ready."

"Ready for what?"

"They'll be coming here. I think they want the Skyhunter. Damn! I wish we could launch it. We could blow them apart with it."

They went back up to the flight deck. "That thing's pretty nifty," Rob said, nodding towards the sphere. "Too bad we all don't have one."

"Are you kidding? They'd only be used for violence and destruction."

"Yeah, you're probably right. You're a real pacifist-type, aren't you?"

"I don't think you have to bop people on the head to prove your point," Scott said, "not to mention sabotage and murder. What do you plan to do?"

"Make sure they don't get it," Rob said. "But I am going to make sure they do get what's coming to them."

"What do you mean by that?"

Rob smiled, remembering fond memories. "Two missions ago, I was working on the Freedom space station with my buddy Theo." Ah, Theo. Will I ever see him again? Rob wondered. He forced himself back to the subject. "Anyway, we taped coke cans to the girders and shot them with a .357 combat magnum I smuggled on board. It's in my locker."

Scott was horrified when he realized what Rob intended to do. "No! No killing. No head bopping, either."

"Why not?" Rob said vehemently. "You saw the bodies. They were gassed to death, man. I won't be doing anything they didn't do."

Scott was appalled by such brutal logic. "No. I'm not going to kill anyone and neither are you."

Rob almost said "what's to stop me," but then he remembered the sphere.

"I know how you feel, Rob," Scott said. "You think they're faceless servants of an 'evil empire' or something. If you think the Soviet Union is bad, let me tell you what I think of our government! I've been on the run from agents of our own government all my life. A government that claims it's for the people, by the people. I know what hate feels like. But you can't let it make decisions for you. If you do that you'll always be a prisoner of the darkness, never to know truth and light. You can't fight against anything, man. If you do it just gives more energy to the thing you're fighting against. It's called 'adding fuel to the fire.'" He paused. "If we're going to destroy anything, it'll be that satellite."

"The Skyhunter? Why?"

"That thing is an abomination," Scott said, his voice laced with disgust. "None of this would have happened without it. This mission was sabotaged because it was meant to deploy a forbidden weapon that can only be used offensively. Think about it, Rob. Would you sabotage their shuttle if they were trying to launch a weapon like that?"

Rob was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I suppose I would," he admitted. For the first time, Scott noticed and change in the astronaut's face. His expression had become softer, less intent on revenge. "It's preemptive, though. We think they may already have something like it." He paused for a moment. "I have to admit, it's hard to think of those damn commies as people with faces and names."

"And hopes and fears," Scott added. "This whole world's a hostage to fear. You've been hurt, man. You have a right to feel angry, a right to want revenge. It's okay to feel those things. But after you do, let them go. If you don't, you're only going to hurt yourself more."

Rob looked at Scott thoughtfully. "You're awfully smart for a kid," he said. His expression had changed again, and Scott could sense why. Rob was becoming more intrigued by Scott's half-alien nature.

Uncomfortably aware of Rob's interest, Scott brushed it aside with a quiet "Yeah, well I've been through a lot."

****** 

"There's no doubt about it, sir," Marlin Hewitt said. "The Buran will rendezvous with the Inferno in less than two hours."

"We have to let the Russians know we mean business," the President said, resignedly.

"What are you going to do?"

"What I have to do. We're going to Andrews."

Hewitt looked crestfallen. "Yes sir. What about your wife?"

"She's still in California. She doesn't know yet."

"Maybe it's better that way," Hewitt said. "I hate to think about what might happen."

"Then don't," The President answered. "That's my worry. If we go over the brink it's on my head, not yours."

****** 

Rob felt the hair on the side of his head stir, as if caressed by a breeze. But then he realized there couldn't possibly be any breezes in the cabin of a dead shuttlecraft. He looked at his watch again. He was breathing just fine, but even by his most generous estimation the oxygen in the cabin should have run out at least an hour ago. Then he was suddenly struck by a chilling thought: dead people didn't need to breathe. He jolted.

"What's the matter now?" Scott asked.

Rob broke out laughing. "Oh, what irony. Here all the time I've been thinking I'm alive. No wonder you showed up here. I'm dead."

Scott shook his head. "You're not dead, Rob. Those other guys, now they're dead." His voice betrayed the fact that he was troubled by Rob's suddenly erratic behavior.

"Then how come I'm still breathing?"

"The sphere is making oxygen." Scott's face creased with concern. "Don't freak out on me like that, man. I can't get us out of this alone."

Rob leaned close to Scott; his eyes were frightfully lucid. "Oh no, I shouldn't go crazy just because my shipmates were gassed to death and I'm marooned in a dead shuttle with a half-alien kid who teleported himself here in a dream." He laughed and looked at Scott again, but his eyes were calmer now. "Sorry. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I'm flipping out. Maybe I am." He paused for a moment, then continued in an much quieter voice. "Okay, if I'm not dead, tell me this: why am I alive?"

Scott shrugged. "Same reason I'm here, I guess." He squeezed Rob's shoulder supportively. "We're in this together, man. But you're the one that has to call the shots." He drifted up to the flight deck windows. "It's so beautiful," he said, as he watched the Earth below. "And so fragile."

"We can sightsee later," Rob said. "Let's get to work before I really do go crazy."

"How many times have you been up here?" Scott asked, still transfixed by the panorama below.

"Five times, including this one." He chuckled. "Yeah, I remember. The first time up, I couldn't keep my eyes off it either. You get used to it, but it's always just as incredible, no matter how many times you see it."

"Just think," Scott said. "It would be so awesome if everyone could see it like this. It's one world. No borders, no wars, no injustice. Just a tiny blue world drifting through the night."

Rob laughed out loud all of the sudden. "Now what's so funny?" Scott asked, almost indignantly.

"You," Rob answered. "Think about it. You've never been in space until now. Some alien."

Scott nodded and laughed.

****** 

"It is highly unfortunate we were forced to take such a regrettable action," General Josef S. Orlov said to his staff, in a closed-door meeting at the Soviet Defense Ministry. "But I think you will all agree that we had no other choice. The Americans have forced this action on us. They'll be madder than hornets when they find out what happened. And they will find out, if they haven't already."

The others all nodded, concurring. Mikhail Tylovitch, the youngest member of the committee, ventured a question. "Suppose the nerve gas fails to work. Then what will our cosmonauts do?"

"The situation is unlikely, but adequate precautions have been taken. When our cosmonauts board the Inferno they will be fully armed."

"And our ICBM's?" Tylovitch queried.

"Of course, they cannot be launched without the codes in the President's briefcase, but our comrades at the KGB are taking care of that problem now."

"Suppose the President resists?"

Orlov smiled grimly. "Then he might, shall we say, be the victim of an unfortunate 'accident.'"

****** 

General Vladmir Peredenkov was enjoying some vodka and Belgian truffles when he was interrupted by his immediate subordinate. "Sorry to intrude, General," the man said, after he saluted sharply.

"No need to be. What have you got?"

"The Americans have gone on full nuclear alert."

Peredenkov's eyebrows went up. "Oh really? Well then, I would suggest that we do the same."

"Yes sir." The man saluted again and left. The General ate the rest of his truffle before going to the strategy room. If the world should happen to perish tonight, he thought, it would be criminal not to finish such an exquisite delicacy.


	3. Chapter 3

Continued From [Part 2](part2.php)

WHEN PAUL OPENED his eyes, he did not find himself in the motel room as he expected. Rather, he was sitting in a grassy, breezy meadow, next to a small, swiftly-flowing stream. Above him, ragged sheets of cirrus draped the sky and caught beams from the setting sun. His eyes drank in the serene wonder of it all and he was enchanted by the quiet yet intense beauty of this place. The brisk babbling of running water soothed his ears and the grass was soft and cool under his bare feet.

He stood and stretched. On the other side of the stream, on his left, rivers of flowers plunged across the hillsides in a dazzling mosaic of color. On his right, a forest of huge sunflowers bordered the other end of the meadow. Paul stood up and walked towards them. He stopped at the first one and examined it closely. The enormous bloom, studded with seed, towered three feet over his head. It suddenly bent down and a shower of blue stars poured from it, cascading over him like raindrops.

A feeling of sweet sadness touched his heart. Somehow, this strange flower reminded him of Scott. That brief deluge of bright blue stars felt like the special child Paul so cherished. My son is growing up, becoming a man, Paul thought, a little sadly. I'm glad he still needs me, and I'm so glad I didn't come back too late.

The sunflower righted itself, as if sensing the strength of Paul's love for Scott. Tingling in the glow of that magic stardust, Paul smiled and faded back to sleep.

******

"Tell me about yourself," Scott said to Rob.

The young astronaut was packing tools into the pockets of his spacesuit. "What do you want to know?"

"The important things."

Rob shrugged. "Not much to tell. My parents live in Utah. I have a twin brother, James, and a younger sister, Emily. I was married once, but it didn't work out."

"Why not?"

"She was great, I was a jerk," Rob said. "I blew it. She's better off without me anyway."

"Why? You seem like a nice enough guy."

Rob laughed. "Yeah, well looks can be deceiving," he said, as he picked up a crescent wrench. He turned and looked at Scott. "I hope you find your mom. Your dad did the right thing, coming back to Earth to help you. I envy you, Scotty. You have something important to live for."

Scott looked at him in shock. "What about you? The Air Force, an astronaut, what do you call that?"

"Stuff to keep me out of trouble. If you knew what I was really like, you wouldn't be here to help me. I'm a screw-up."

"I don't buy that," Scott said. "Don't expect me to go into agreement with your negative perceptions about yourself. But-even if it was true, I'd still like you. We have something in common."

"Yeah, I noticed that." Rob let go of the wrench and it slowly drifted away from him. "I like you, too. It's kind of funny. You're not really my type of guy."

"What makes you so sure?" Scott grabbed the wrench and handed it back to him.

"I don't know what to think anymore," Rob said. "About anything." He paused for a moment, twirling the wrench with his hands. "What about you, Scott? What things do you like?"

Scott shrugged. "Oh, books, good movies, music, football. Pizza and pancakes."

"Yeah? What else?"

"Oh, simple things," Scott said, looking away. "Stuff you probably wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"The sun and the moon," Scott said, savoring the words. "The wind and the rain. Things like that."

Rob looked down. "I'd be ashamed to tell you what I like. Or at least what I used to like. If I make it out of this thing alive, I think I'll change a lot of things."

"Good," Scott said. "And you're not a screw-up. That's just an excuse for not trying. Rob, the best thing for you to do now is to start believing in yourself."

******

A light rain had begun to fall by the time the President's helicopter arrived at the main runway of Andrews Air Force Base, some eleven miles from the Capitol. The President's Airborne Command Post, a custom-built Boeing 747, was waiting nearby. "What's the latest?" the President asked Marlin Hewitt, as they boarded the jet. Fox, Cavanaugh, and Jennings followed.

"He should be starting the press briefing soon," Hewitt answered. "He's already briefed Congress and Epstein has told the families." They ducked into the plane and sat down, and one of the President's aides turned the TV on.

Fox looked at the President. "What's Ed going to say?"

"Half of the truth," the President answered. "He's very good at that, you know."

Edward Finch, the young, boyish-looking Vice-President, took the podium in the East room at the White House. "I have a statement to read first, after which I'll answer questions," he said to the press corps. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his vest pocket. "At approximately 7 o'clock this evening, contact with the space shuttle _Inferno_ was lost due to a communications malfunction. The condition of the astronauts is uncertain at this time, but as far as we know they're just fine. As you know, the shuttle is on a classified Department of Defense mission, but the communications failure was not related to the military payload in any way..."

******

Scott listened intently as Rob gave him a very basic lesson about the shuttle's components and how its major systems worked. After that, the two of them discussed what their plan of action would be. Rob told Scott about his original plan to separate the tank and the shuttle, thus taking the orbiter out of danger until NASA could launch a recovery mission.

"But now we know the Buran is coming, thanks to you," the astronaut concluded. "That puts us in a whole new ball game. We can't abandon this baby, because if we do the Russians could waltz in and steal the works. We can't let them have that satellite."

"We can't let our country have it, either," Scott added pointedly.

"Why not? Why are you so bent on destroying that thing?"

"You know why," Scott retorted. "War, that's why. War is not the answer to anything." His face twisted with disgust. "You know I have no great love for the military, but this is really sick. It's sad to see our own government stoop this low. That thing's a free ticket to Armageddon."

"That's not its purpose," Rob countered. "It's a last chance device, the bottom chip in the bargaining pile. The arms control negotiations are whittling away our nuclear defenses, Russian-bred insurrection is growing in Central America and Mexico, and the conventional forces of the Warsaw Pact outnumber NATO's ten to one. The threat of us striking first is the only thing that's going to keep those bastards in line."

Scott shook his head. "This is unbelievable. You know what this is like? It's like the Germans in World War Two. Those people had concentration camps in their back yards, but they thought they couldn't do anything about itor even worse, just ignored what was going on. Sure, everyone's against nuclear weapons, but hardly anybody does anything about it. We all just ignore them like they'll go away. But they won't go unless we make it happen. Those bombs could wipe out the human race, but we just let the government have its way, putting missiles in the ground and in semis and in orbit and God-knows-where next. And it'll just get worse and worse until finally there's no way out. Doesn't anybody care about the future anymore?"

"Maybe it's for the better," Rob said dejectedly. "We've made such a mess of everything. Maybe the human race needs to be destroyed before the Earth can be free."

"No," Scott said, shaking his head. "Hate can never cure hate. I just don't understand it. There are so many good things we could be doing. Helping each other. Teaching each other."

Rob looked at him and nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's a good dream to have, Scotty. Maybe the world can be like that one day." He put his arm across Scott's brooding shoulders. "Okay, we'll kill the satellite. But I want to save the orbiter. If we can."

Scott nodded. "Okay. What can we do?"

"What I want to know is what you can do with that sphere-thing," Rob said. He floated over a little so he was facing Scott. He smiled. "You seem pretty average for an alien. If it weren't for the sphereor the fact that you're here at allI wouldn't have believed your story. You don't look..." His voice trailed off uncomfortably and he cleared his throat.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, I know. Well, maybe I don't look different, but I feel different." He put his hand to his chest and his eyes got watery. "In here is where I feel it the most."

Rob was touched by the look in Scott's eyes. They were eyes that had seen too much sadness, too much grief, too much loneliness. He squeezed Scott's shoulder again. "Are you ready?"

Scott blinked back the tears that had threaten to flood his eyes. "Yeah. What are we going to try to do?"

"I want to see if you can launch the Skyhunter with the sphere."

Scott nodded. He pulled the shiny object from his pocket, and for a moment he remembered the time when Paul had told him, "I'll be in your pocket." He smiled, and wished that Paul were really here--although this experience had him wondering just how "real" reality really was. Heeding his call, the sphere glowed blue, a radiant, brilliant blue. He focused on the Skyhunter; tried to envision it lifting out of the cargo bay. He mentally went over every launch he'd ever seen, to no avail. His thoughts were finally distracted to the point where the sphere began to fade, and Scott hurled it towards the wall in frustration. "Damn," he said, his eyes flooding with tears again. He looked at Rob apologetically. "Sorry. I'm not so good at using the thing yet."

"Hey, take it easy," Rob said. "Don't feel bad if it's too hard," Rob said. "There are probably too many things you'd have to do in order to make it work, and you don't know enough about any of them. Don't worry about it." He picked the rebounding sphere out of the air and handed it back to Scott. "Someday you'll be a virtuoso."

Scott nodded tersely and dried his face with his sleeve. "What now?"

"Well, the first order of business is to disconnect the automatic systems, so that if the Russians try to start us up again, it won't be easy to control anything important. That'll also prevent NASA from taking us down on autopilot, which would be the normal procedure. That should keep the Skyhunter out of everybody's hands for awhile. Satisfactory?"

"Affirmative," Scott said. "How do we start?"

******

General Justin Braithwaite had been a lieutenant when the Cuban missile crisis happened in '62. He remembered being scared, and feeling very glad that he wasn't "wearing the brass hat." Back then he never in his wildest dreams imagined he'd be commander of NORAD one day. But it had happened; the "brass hat" was his to wear now. He was charged with the defense of the North American continent, and tonight he had his own crisis to deal with.

"The _Buran_ is moving into position for rendezvous," one of his subordinates informed him. "ETA two hours six minutes." The man gave Braithwaite a faltering glance. "Sir, do you think it could go all the way?"

"If it does we'll blow them vodkas and fish eggs to Hell and back," the General vowed sternly.

"Gee, sir. I kind of like vodka."

Braithwaite smiled. "Get me a report on the missiles."

******

General Braithwaite's contemporary, Vladmir Peredenkov, had left all thoughts of truffles behind. He was busy coordinating the massive military muscle of the Iron Curtain.

"Our submarines are moving into position," one station reported. "Missile operators standing by," another told him. "All systems functioning normally on _Buran_ ," another said. Peredenkov looked at his watch. In two hours the pride of the Soviet space fleet would be there. And in three hours, the world might not be anywhere.

******

Marlin Hewitt handed the red phone to the President. "It's Josef Orlov, the Soviet Defense Minister," he said.

The President thought for a moment, then lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"Good evening, comrade. Tell me, are we going to blow up the world tonight, or will we be civilized?"

"That depends on you," the President said. "If your cosmonauts attempt to board the _Inferno_ or threaten it in any way, we will consider it an overt act of war and respond accordingly."

"We cannot allow the deployment of the _Skyhunter_ satellite weapon," Orlov said in his thick baritone. "Such a threat to our national security is unacceptable. I regret the unfortunate action we had to take in order to insure the failure of the Inferno's mission, but you left us no choice. Destroy the satellite or we'll destroy it for you."

"Out of the question," the President said. "That satellite is a vital element of the defense structure of the United States. Any attack upon it will be considered an attack on this country."

"This was discussed in Iceland, or have you forgotten? Your stealth weapons have already given you a great advantage. Any further shift in the balance of power is intolerable."

"Don't lecture me about advantages. What do you call the conventional forces in eastern Europe? Stand down or I'll show you what's really intolerable."

" _Nyet,_ " Orlov said coldly. The line went dead, and the President calmly handed the phone back to the ashen-faced Hewitt. "Why is that goon on the phone? Where the hell is the Soviet President?"

"Unknown, sir. We've run into a stone wall at the Kremlin. No luck, even on the hotline."

The President nodded. "Get me Braithwaite at NORAD."

"Yes sir." A few moments later Hewitt handed the phone back to the President.

"General Braithwaite? This is the President. Scramble the bombers." He handed the phone to Hewitt. "Find my wife and get her in the air."

"Yes sir."

******

Rob was doing quite a job of tearing the shuttle apart. If it survived, it would take months of work to get everything functional again, but he was really beginning to doubt that it would survive. The Soviet booby trap had put the Inferno in a coma; Rob was giving her a lobotomy, disconnecting everything but the manual controls and the telemetry and communications systems. Scott interrupted him with another picture from the sphere.

"Those are bombers," Rob said. "The President is probably sending them to fail-safe. We've got to work fast."

"Yeah," Scott said. Suddenly, he saw a glow from the flight deck. Curious, he and Rob went up to investigate. "Probably the sun rising," Rob said offhandedly.

It wasn't the sun. It was the glow of the _Buran's_ reaction jets. The Soviet shuttle was "parked" in orbit about a thousand yards in front of the _Inferno._ "They're here already!" Scott said in shock.

"Showtime," Rob said. He grabbed some wire.

"What's that for?" Scott asked.

"The external tank has explosives in it that are set off if the shuttle goes off-course during liftoff. That destroys the orbiter, but it's considered uncontrollable if it goes that far off-course." He began packing a bunch of parts into a bag. "What I'm going to do is connect the pressure gauge on the tank to the explosives, so that if the pressure goes above a certain point it'll trigger a blast."

"But that'll blow up the _Inferno!_ "

"I know," Rob said, "but it's the only option we have time for now. Besides, it's the only sure way to destroy the satellite. I just hope it doesn't melt down or something."

Scott's eyes bugged out. "That sucker's nuclear?"

"Plutonium," Rob said. "If the core goes down in an inhabited area it'd be a real mess. I hope it hits the ocean."

"You wouldn't think that if you were a fish," Scott retorted.

Rob ignored the challenge in Scott's reply. "I wonder how far we've fallen," he said, peering down at the Earth.

"I thought we were in orbit," Scott said.

"We are, but not high enough. There's still some drag, and without the RCS to counteract it, she's been slowly drifting down." They floated down to the mid-deck and Scott helped Rob climb into his spacesuit. "Okay, here's the plan," Rob said. I'll hook up the detonator and wait for them to get here. Then I'll use the EMU to go over and try to commandeer their ship."

"Good thing you brought this," Scott said, handing him the gun. "Just don't use it unless you absolutely have to."

"I won't," Rob promised. "After I've taken over their orbiter, I'll move it closer. That's your cue to put your suit on. There's only one EMU so I'll come out and help you get over to the Buran. If all goes well we'll land at Edwards within hours. The pressure gauge and the explosives will finish off the Inferno and the satellite. Use the headset in your suit if you need to talk to me. Wish me luck."

"Yeah," Scott said. They went back to the mid-deck and he helped Rob into the airlock.

Marlin Hewitt, on the phone with General Braithwaite, gave the President an update. "Sir, the Buran has arrived. The bombers are in position and the subs and ICBM's are in launch mode. All you have to do is give the word."

"Not given," the President answered. "Not yet." He fingered his chin nervously. "I wish we knew what was going on up there."

Hewitt looked grave. "Are we going to go through with this, sir?"

"We might have to. It's what we've always said we'd do, what we've always threatened to do."

Nearby, George Fox was looking out of one of the plane's windows. Down below the lights of cities shimmered in the thick night air. For so long he had thought that the alien he was chasing was the greatest threat to the Earth's future. He found it hard to believe that this conflict had escalated so far so quickly. Being here with the President gave him the unenviable opportunity to stand at the very edge of the abyss and look down. Standing face to face with the Grim Reaper, Fox had to concede that the greatest threat to the Earth's future was the Earth itself. The human race had exploited the planet's resources for the most insidious causes. Would the rest of the Universe care if humanity annihilated itself tonight? Would Paul Forrester care? "He came back to help his son," George murmured. But why? What were the alien's hidden motives? What would be gained by allowing Scott Hayden to grow up and become a man? Would the alien infection spread through humanity like a plague? If so, the sharply divided factions of the human race would succumb rapidly. Only by joining together was there any chance of fighting off the invaders. Fox went to the President.

"Don't give the word," Fox urged. "Let's wait and see what happens."

"What if we launch one," Jennings suggested. "A remote strike in Siberia, perhaps."

The President shook his head. "No. This is the real deal, gentlemen. There are no limited spheres of influence or tactical arenas. If we launch one bird the rest will follow."

"But we can't stand down," Jennings said. "They're probably boarding the Inferno now. You have to do something."

The President was clearly distressed. He knew that the next escalation could bring wholesale destruction to an entire planet, but the prestige of the United States would be permanently damaged if he simply backed down. "Let's see how strong their resolve is." He looked at Hewitt. "DLO for fifteen minutes."

******

"Damn," Rob said, when he saw the pressure gauge on the external tank. The pressure inside was already uncomfortably close to the critical point. He wanted to have a safety margin, but he couldn't set the detonator mark too high or the tank might blow up without triggering the high explosives that were buried in a pencil-thin core in the tank's backbone. If the Skyhunter's reactor pile wasn't destroyed, it might plunge into the atmosphere and threaten human livesor fish lives. Scott's pacifist logic was starting to make a lot of sense, and Rob found himself wondering why he'd always been such a warmonger. For a moment, the truth pressed close to him, and it frightened him. He hated himself. He'd never been able to admit that before, but now it was so obvious he couldn't deny it. His own lack of self-esteem had fueled a appetite for destruction-especially self destruction. Suddenly, everything Scott had said seemed terribly important. He couldn't change the world, but he could change himself. If he survived this, he promised himself that he'd do exactly that.

He was almost finished. He snipped off some bits of extra wire, set the detonator, and taped it to the side of the tank. He looked at his watch. It had taken him about twenty minutes to do the job.

He saw a small flash of light and looked at the Buran. A cosmonaut was leaving the Soviet orbiter's airlock, trailing a rope behind him. Rob slipped into the space between the tank and the Inferno so he was out of sight. He switched his headset on. "Scott, can you hear me?"

Inside the Inferno, Scott had been floating next to his suit. He heard Rob's call and strapped the headset on. "I'm here, Rob. What did you say?"

"One of the cosmonauts is coming over."

"Great," Scott said sarcastically. "What should I do, send out the welcome wagon?" He pulled himself up to the flight deck, dragging the suit along. He got to the windows in time to see the Buran's cargo bay doors open. Two cosmonauts with extravehicular mobility units came out of the bay, towing an equipment-laden sled behind them. "What's that?" Scott asked.

"I don't know, but I don't like the looks of it," Rob radioed. Scott watched as the cosmonaut with the rope came along the Inferno's port side-out of the Buran's line of sight-and tied the rope to one of the handles near the escape hatch.

"Scott," Rob said, "it looks like I'm going to have to shoot them."

"No!" Scott yelled back. "No. Three people have died already, Rob. There's got to be a way out without killing anybody else. Besides, there must be more of them in the orbiter. They might come after you, or even worse, just turn around and go home."

Outside, Rob was strapping himself into his EMU. "Yeah, you're right," he relented. The military discipline that had supposedly trained him for moments like this had failed him utterly. He had to force himself out of old thought patterns and improvise. "That ugly thing's our only ride home," he said. He paused, analyzing the situation. The cosmonauts with the sled had also gone around to the Inferno's port side. "They're probably going to feed in some external power," Rob said. "If I stay in the Inferno's shadow I should be able to get over there and still be out of sight."

"Go for it," Scott said. "Good luck."

"Here goes." Rob pushed off and headed towards the Soviet orbiter. He became nervous, out there alone with no protection. "Talk to me, Scotty," he said. "I'm getting the jitters. Tell me about your dad."

"Oh, he's great," Scott said. "Before he came here he was a navigator. Made maps of the Universe and stuff like that. You'd think Earth would be anti-climatic compared to all that, but he seems to love it down here."

"Well, for a primitive, warlike species, we do have some good points. Like Mexican cooking. Jalapeno and cheddar pizza topped with jicama salsa and peppers, with a side order of cajun shrimp. That's my favorite."

"Oh, gross!" Scott exclaimed. "What do you drink with that, the Pacific Ocean?"

"The Atlantic," Rob said, with a chuckle. "I've been scuba diving in the Caribbean several times. It's incredible, all the fish and underwater life. It's another world-like space, only more beautiful." He found himself touched by what Scott had said about the fish, by Scott's respect for life. He grunted. "I'm almost there; only a few yards to go."

Inside the Inferno, Scott was getting into his spacesuit. "Be careful," he said on the headset. He jumped as the lights suddenly came on. A cacophony of hoots and honks assaulted his ears as various alarms sounded. "What's happening, Rob?" he radioed.

Rob was now alongside the Soviet orbiter. He was just about to move over to the airlock when he saw it opening. He dived for cover underneath the shuttle. "They've fed in some power, Scotty. I don't have time to tell you how to cut off the alarms," he said. "Just hang tight."

Inside the American shuttle, Scott's attention was distracted by one of the suddenly-active computer displays. "Ah, Rob, what does Red Rain DLO fifteen mean?" he asked.

"What?" Rob radioed. "Did you say DLO?"

"Yeah. The number's counting down. Looks like minutes and seconds."

"Oh my God," Rob said. "Red Rain is a code. It means NORAD has locked target instructions into the ICBM's. DLO means 'delayed launch order.' If the President doesn't countermand the order, the missiles will launch when the timer expires."

"Fifteen minutes?" Scott exclaimed. "Is that all we have?"

"I'm afraid so," Rob replied, as he clung to the Buran. He looked down at the Earth. "Looks like we've got front row seats in the theater of mutually assured destruction."

Another Soviet came out of the Buran and used the rope to haul himself to the Inferno. He left the outer door of the airlock open. Once the man had gone around to the far side of the American shuttle, Rob cut the rope, then pulled himself up to the airlock and got in. The pressure equalized and he shed his helmet and gloves, then cocked the gun. He opened the inner door.

There was no one on the Buran's mid-deck. Rob floated cautiously up to the flight deck. A sole cosmonaut was sitting in the commander's chair. Rob sucked his breath in. It was a woman. He didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't afford to have her in the way, either. So he shoved himself off hard and sprung up next to her.

Her mouth dropped in surprise when she saw him. Her hand reached for the mike switch, but Rob was faster. "Greetings," he grunted, as he struck her in the forehead with the gun. She slumped back, unconscious. Rob got some tape from the mid-deck and bound and gagged her so she wouldn't be in the way when she came to. "Sorry," he said, "but I had to do that." Then he secured the airlock and started disconnecting the automatic controls. "Good thing they stole all this technology from us," he said. "This'll be a piece of cake." He switched his mike on. "Scott? I'm inside the _Buran_. I had to bop someone on the head, but no shooting so far."

There was no answer. After he finished hot-wiring the controls, Rob drifted up to the flight deck windows. "Come in, Scotty. Do you copy?"

"Hi Rob. Sorry, I've got a bit of a problem here."

"What's wrong?"

"It's the tank. The detonator was about to go off. I'm holding it back with the sphere."

"Oh my God. Look, I'm coming back for you. Hold onto that thing."

"No!" Scott yelled. "It's too dangerous! See if you can get the Russians away from here. I don't know how long I can hold this thing off."

"I'm not going to leave you, Scotty," Rob said emphatically.

"You have to," Scott answered. "You have to go back and tell everyone what happenedand why it can never happen again."

"But if you stay there you'll"

Scott interrupted him. "No! I'm not going to die. I'm down there, remember?"

"We don't know that, man. We can't take that chance." Rob's voice was pleading.

Inside the Inferno, Scott heard noises from the vicinity of the airlock. "I think they're coming in," he said, trying to keep his attention focused on the sphere. If his concentration wandered for so much as a second, the tank would go. "Don't give out on me now," he said to the sphere. He glanced at the DLO timer and gulped. There were less than eight minutes left.

Outside the shuttle, the two Russians who weren't manning the power sled got into the _Inferno's_ airlock. After they had gone through it, they found something they weren't expecting-namely the three bodies.

On the flight deck, Scott could see them and hear them yelling but couldn't understand what they were saying. One of them, who was clearly in charge, was pointing out some of the damage Rob had done. He pulled a gun out of a pocket in his suit.

Scott ducked out of their line of sight. "Guess they like target practice too," he said half-humorously. The sphere was holding the tank steady without hardly any support on his part. Scott hoped it would stay that way. He looked into its depths and saw mercenaries of steel crouched in concrete caves. They were ICBM's, waiting for the President's command.

Inside the _Buran_ , Rob typed in the command for an RCS burn. The reaction control system fired, moving the Soviet shuttle down towards the Earth.

In the _Inferno_ , The unarmed Russian stuck his head up into the flight deck, saw Scott, and cried out. His comrade rapidly moved to his side, brandishing the gun.

"Please," Scott pleaded, as he floated by the pilot's seat. "You have to leave. If you don't you'll die." The sphere wavered and he gasped. The Soviet cocked the gun. Scott's face turned ashen white. "No, please! Don't shoot me! If you do the#&151;"

The Soviet muttered something and fired the gun. The bullet hit Scott full in the chest and he sprawled backward. The sphere flew from his hand. It impacted into the commander's control panel with a metallic, unmusical thud. It rebounded like a spring, blinking on and off as it did so.

Scott felt a sharp pain in his chest as the bullet hit. As unconsciousness folded around him, his vision grew dark. The last thing he saw was the glow of status lights on one of the nearby instrument panels. Their soft colors reminded him of Christmas lights, of video games, of autumn leaves. He felt blood running down his belly, hot and sticky. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His elbow hit the manual OMS ignition switch as he crumpled against the pilot's control panel.

Despite all the damage Rob had inflicted, the OMS engines of the Inferno somehow managed to fire a tribute to all the backups and double-backups. The recoil from the sudden motion tipped the armed Soviet backwards. He cried out and accidentally discharged the gun. The bullet zinged past Scott's head and hit one of the cockpit windows. The window shattered and Scott, the cosmonauts, the sphere, and everything else that wasn't bolted down surged towards the opening as the cabin explosively decompressed.

From his vantage point inside the _Buran_ , Rob saw a bright flash in the space between the Inferno and its external tank. That flashed segued into an eruption rivaling the sun as the tank exploded. The blast consumed the Inferno, sending fragments in all directions.

Rob swore as he saw a few good-sized chunks of metal flying towards the _Buran_. He hastily tapped in the coordinates for an OMS burn and the Soviet ship plunged downward and away from the blast. Hot tears poured from Rob's eyes. He turned the craft around so he could see the expanding cloud of debris. The glowing embers were fading, but some of them would burn ever more brightly as they plummeted into the atmosphere. The Inferno was no more. "Scotty," he cried.

Out of the explosion's white cloud of smoke came a light, a light like Rob had never seen. It looked somewhat like a sphere, small and radiant. And it was the most beautiful blue color, so bright and warm, the shade of electricity and cloudless summer skies. And in his heart, Rob knew that this was the _real_ Scott. "I won't forget you," Rob whispered, as the strength, peace, and joy of that light swept over him.

"I'm afraid you will have to forget," Rob heard Scott's voice say, although it sounded like it was inside his own head. "I won't, but I'll think it was just a dream. I'm sorry it has to be that way. But I'm glad I got to know you."

"Me too," Rob said sadly. "We did it, buddy. The world's going to be safe."

"Yeah. Goodbye, Rob. Take care of yourself." In this, his other natural form, Scott felt confident about his capability, but he still felt uneasy. His fears were unfounded, though#151;the sphere excised Rob's memories of Scott Hayden as neatly as a knife slicing through butter.

Rob blinked as his consciousness was crushed by this sudden darkness. The blue light began to fade, and once again Rob was impressed with its ethereal beauty. He blinked his eyes. Beauty? What was he thinking about? "The Earth," he said quietly, reminding himself. "It is lovely." He discarded his headset and put on the Soviet one. He punched in a new frequency.

"Mission control, this is Robert Barnes. I have assumed command of the shuttle _Buran_. Do you copy?"

******

Aboard Air Force One, Fox was trying to give the President the latest news as delicately as possible. "The car your wife was taking to Edwards has a flat tire. She's still on the ground."

"And in a primary strike zone," the President said. He looked terrible, almost apoplectic. "Has there been anything from the Soviets?"

"No sir," Fox replied. "Not a"

Hewitt interrupted with a bombshell. "The Inferno has exploded," he said. "They've destroyed it. Sir, General Braithwaite is standing by. Less than one minute until the DLO launch. You have to make the final decision."

The President looked stricken. His hand suddenly flew up to his chest, and he buckled over with a strangled cry. The others rushed to his aid.

The President's doctor pushed his way through. "Please gentlemen, out of my way." They lowered the President to the floor and loosened his shirt. The doctor examined him rapidly. "My God, he's having a heart attack. We need to get to a hospital."

The President closed his eyes. The pain inside his chest was excruciating, but he also felt something elsethe presence of someone. But the person seemed to be inside him, not beside him.

The image in his mind's eye focused and he saw a handsome young man, who smiled at him. "There will always be hope for peace, Mr. President," the young man said gently, "even in the darkest hour." Then he faded away.

"Hewitt," the President called weakly. The FSA Director crouched at his side immediately. "Yes sir?"

"Tell Braithwaite to stand down. Cancel the DLO."

Hewitt's face showed vast relief. "Yes sir."

******

Paul was back in the meadow. He saw a bird flying high overhead, a dark silhouette against the high clouds. It might be an eagle, or an osprey, or a peregrine. He couldn't tell. He looked at the stream for a moment, and then remembered the treasure he had found here before. He jogged to the edge of the meadow, and stopped abruptly at its end. His face and his eyes dropped sadly.

The sunflower was dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Continued From [Part 3](part3.php)

"REPEAT AGAIN, COLONEL," General Epstein requested. "Did you say that you're in command of Buran?"

"Yes sir. I'm in control of this vehicle. I have one Soviet prisoner." Rob looked at the unconscious woman.

"What about the Inferno and the rest of the crew?"

"Gone," Rob said. "The tank exploded. There were three American casualties and four Soviet ones."

"Understood," Epstein said sorrowfully. "I'll inform the families. Anything we can do for you now?"

"Yeah, where's Theo?"

"He went to Edwards."

"Copy," Rob said. "Buran out." He punched in a new frequency, then closed the cargo bay doors. He busied himself with the preparations for the de-orbit burn and re-entry, then tried to get through to Theo.

******

Paul cupped the husk of the sunflower's dead bloom in his left hand and retrieved his sphere with his other hand. He looked at the silvery orb, and it began to glow with a surge of energy deep within. Paul directed that energy at the plant's stalk. New life poured into the flower, and its foliage turned green again. The huge bloom became vibrant again and lifted itself up, strong and alive once more. And in its own quiet way, it said "thank you."

******

Hewitt talked to the President as Air Force One prepared to land at the nearest airport. An ambulance would be standing by, ready to take the stricken leader to surgery. "Colonel Barnes is in command of the Buran, sir. The Inferno and the Skyhunter were destroyed when the external tank exploded."

"Any other survivors?" the President asked weakly.

"One Soviet." The President nodded.

The red phone rang, and George Fox answered it. "It's Orlov," he said, handing the phone to Hewitt.

Hewitt held the phone to the President's ear. "I am sorry the Inferno was destroyed, comrade," the Defense minister said. "We only wanted to eliminate the Skyhunter."

"It looks like we've decided to be civilized after all," the President answered, in a hoarse whisper. "There will always be hope for peace, my friend, even in the darkest hour."

"I understand. When you recover, we will all meet again in Iceland, yes?"

"Yes. I'm sure we can work something out. Goodbye."

"I hope you get well soon. Dosvedanya." The phone jarred as the jet touched down on the runway. The President tried to relax as he was strapped into a gurney and taken off the plane.

Half a world away in Moscow, Orlov put down the phone, his face pensive and stern.

"So it's over?" Peredenkov asked.

"Oh no. The real battle has only just begun, comrade."

******

"Rob, you old S.O.B., I knew you'd make it!" Theo yelled. "Are you really in the Buran?"

"That's right. Theo, I need you to do me a fave. There's a guy I know on the L.A.P.D. His name's Palmer Calhoun and he's a detective. Ask him to get down to LAX as soon as possible."

"The airport? Why?"

"I'm landing there," Rob replied.

"Rob! That's insane! You can't land that thing at a civilian airport!"

"If I land at Edwards, they'll cart me and this hunk of junk off and no one will ever know about what happened. I need you to get someone else, too. There's a reporter at the ABC studios named Holli Johnson. She interviewed me last year. Tell her to get down to LAX, too."

"Rob, you're out of your mind-"

"Stop flappin' your jaws," Rob snapped. "Get on it and then get your butt into your T-38. I'm going to need some help getting down."

"More like divine intervention," Theo muttered to himself. He picked up the phone.

******

The Soviet woman began to stir as the Buran entered its "window" into the atmosphere. Rob grabbed the gun and put it in his lap. "I hope this foreign flea-trap works," he grunted. A diffused orange glow became visible outside the cabin windows. The re-entry was beginning.

The woman opened her eyes and looked at Rob apprehensively. Rob was too busy playing the control stick to pay much attention to her. The orbiter shuddered a little, but not nearly as much as he feared. Far from being a "hunk of junk," the Buran was as sturdy as her NASA counterparts. The energy of the orbiter, which was travelling in excess of Mach 24 when it encountered the atmosphere, was converted into heat as the craft slowed down. By the time Rob was approaching the coast of California, Buran had slowed down to about Mach 7. The hot part of the ride was over.

Rob slung the shuttle through a long series of roll reversals, slowing it further. He punched in the frequency for the control tower at LAX and asked for permission to land. Theo had already been in touch with them, and they nervously agreed. What choice did they have? Rob was determined to land there.

Speaking of Theo, it was just shortly after his conversation with the tower that Rob saw his T-38 approaching. Rob dialed up his frequency. "Good to see you, bud. How does she look?"

Theo swooped around the orbiter and examined it from all sides. "Looks good. I just hope that runway's long enough for you to land in one piece. What are we going to do about support systems?"

"I don't give a damn about that," Rob said. "I just want this thing to get me down to the ground. After that I could care less if it rots."

******

Paul Forrester yawned and stretched. He got up, took a shower, and dressed. He shook Scott's shoulder. "Wake up, sleepy-head."

Scott stirred reluctantly. "Morning," he said, not very enthusiastically. He sat up on the edge of the bed and coughed.

"Is something wrong?" Paul asked, concerned.

"Yeah. I feel gross," Scott said. He scratched his tummy and grimaced. "My stomach hurts. Man, I had the weirdest dream."

"About what?"

"Something about atomic bombs and space. I don't remember it very well."

"You feel good enough to eat?" Paul asked, slinging the camera onto his shoulder.

Scott rubbed his eyes. "Yeah."

"What do you want?"

"A taco," Scott said. He laughed at himself. Mexican food for breakfast?

Paul laughed, then stopped suddenly. "That was a joke, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it was," Scott said. He stood up and trudged to the bathroom. Paul heard the shower start as he flipped the TV on.

"...sources in Washington tell us that a major nuclear crisis was, indeed, narrowly avoided. It's our understanding that the Inferno exploded about half-an-hour ago..."

Paul glanced at the bathroom and bit his lip. Then he sat down to watch the news report.

******

Rob gritted his teeth as he came up on the main runway at the Los Angeles International Airport. "LAX has never seen a snowstorm like this," he said grimly. He landed hard and fast, but the touch-down was smooth. He stepped on the brakes, and Theo touched down right behind him.

"Damn," Rob said. He wasn't slowing down as fast as he needed to. The Soviet woman began struggling and he picked the gun up and held it to her forehead. She quieted down.

Rob pushed on the brakes harder and they locked. He uttered a string of expletives as the shuttle starting swinging around. In a cloud of dust, the tires screeched and the orbiter lurched briefly. It skidded to a halt a mere ten feet from the end of the runway.

Theo had jumped onto one of the emergency vehicles that was pulling up to the craft. Now he jumped off. "Hose it down!" he yelled to the fire captain. "We've got to keep it cool until NASA gets here!"

The captain nodded, and the firemen brought a ladder up to the side of the shuttle.

Inside, Rob pressed the gun into the woman's head as his rage returned. His vengeance was certainly justified. All he had to do was apply just a little pressure to the trigger...

A baffling burst of memories, or something, suddenly flooded his head. "I'm not going to kill anyone and neither are you...war, that's why...there's been enough killing." It was ironic, really. When the Russians killed Scott, they were killing themselves. Rob's arm slumped and the gun clattered to the ground. "You were right, Scotty," he whispered, with a far-away look in his eyes. "But I didn't expect you to be blue." Then he blinked, took out his pocketknife, and cut the woman loose. "Sorry," he apologized.

"I was only going to tell you about the drag parachute," she said, in a heavily accented voice.

"Oh." What had he just been thinking? Something about war. "I'm sorry about what happened. But we did avoid a war."

"Yes," she said. "That's the important thing. I am Tatiana Murova. I'm sorry about your astronauts."

"I'm sorry about yours," he replied, just as sincerely.

"I can understand your anger." She wiped some of the sweat off his face. "You see, I also have training as psychologist. You've been through a very traumatic experience."

"No kidding," Rob said. "What about you?"

"I'm alive. That's the important thing. Tell me, who is Scotty?"

"Scotty?" Rob repeated. He thought. "I don't know anyone named Scotty."

"Are you sure? I thought you said that name just before you decided not to shoot me. Maybe I didn't hear you right. Why did you decide not to kill me?"

"You know why," Rob said. "War. Killing isn't the answer."

"I understand."

There was a pop and a low hiss as Theo sprung the emergency exit hatch on the flight deck. He scrambled on board. "Your friend and the reporter are waiting," he said to Rob breathlessly. "Go on, I'll take care of the orbiter."

"This is Tatiana," Rob introduced. "She'll help. It's good to see you, buddy." He embraced Theo briefly, then climbed down the ladder.

"My main man Palm," he said, shaking Palmer Calhoun's hand.

"Good to see you again," the detective said. "Miss Johnson here can't wait to hear your story, and neither can I."

"Good," Rob said. "How fast can you get us to the ABC studios?"

******

It was the exclusive of the century. Millions of viewers put off whatever they were doing-work, school, whatever-to watch Rob tell his story. And he told it all. He talked about the Machiavellian satellite that was named after a video game, the Skyhunter, which caused the whole crisis, and the subject of anti-satellite weapons in general, emphasizing the dangerous instability they introduced into the nuclear equation. He talked about the sabotage and eventual destruction of the Inferno. He talked about how World War Three had been narrowly skirted. He told how he commandeered the Buran, negotiated the fiery re-entry, and managed to land-barely-at LAX. Then he talked about broader things-peace, war, how one became the other, and how the former could become the world's dream. Only one theme from the story was missing, but that was only because Rob could no longer remember it.

The interview was interrupted by the appearance of federal officers, who carted him away after charging him with treason. A public outrage of incredible magnitude resulted, and the next day the President, who was recovering nicely from open heart surgery, caved into the public pressure and granted the astronaut a full pardon. 

The Inferno's saboteur was identified and imprisoned without bail pending grand jury action. Meanwhile, Congress passed resolutions urging new arms reduction measures and limitations on the development and testing of new weapons, and the Supreme Soviet immediately approved similar measures. Arms negotiations is Geneva were proceeding with renewed vigor. The road ahead would be a long and difficult one, but it seemed that the popularly-dubbed "Snowstorm" crisis had ignited a new resolve among the Earth's many peoples-a resolve that might persist until the day when the last warhead was triumphantly dismantled.

There was just one small problem. The President of the Soviet Union was missing, and nobody seemed to know where he was.

******

"We are tired of being hostages to fear," the President said from his hospital bed. "Let the bombers rust on the airfields. Let the missiles rot in their silos. This world has seen enough war. We must change our ways now, while there is still time enough for peace. We have a world to reclaim, an environment to heal, and the entire Universe to explore. There are better things to do than fight each other. The future begins today..."

******

"Are you sure you want to retire?" General Epstein asked Rob, after the astronaut's examination at Bethesda Naval Hospital.

"Absolutely," Rob said, as he buttoned up his shirt. He hopped off the examination table. "For the first time in my life, I have a life to think about."

"I hate to lose you," Epstein said. "You're good, Rob. Damn good. The nation needs men like you up in that space station."

"Sorry General," Rob apologized. He motioned upwards with his thumb. "All that stuff up there will wait. We need to take care of business down here first."

The attending physician, Dr. Sylvester, walked in with a uniformed Army officer.

"This is Brigadier General Kent Burrows," Epstein introduced. "He's the Army's expert on CBR warfare."

"CBR?" Dr. Sylvester asked.

"Chemical, biological, radiological," Burrows said. He shook Rob's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Colonel. Dr. Sylvester here tells me you're just fine, but we still don't understand why you survived the nerve agent. Are you sure it was CYA?"

"Positive," Rob said.

"What does CYA stand for?" Dr. Sylvester asked.

"Calcium yohimbine acetate. It paralyzes the central nervous system. The victims usually die of heart failure."

"Is calcium the binding agent?"

"Yes sir."

Sylvester nodded. "What can you tell me about the metabolism of that compound?"

"It metabolizes fairly slowly in the gastrointestinal tract. It's typically combined with an aerosol anesthetic which knocks the victim out and gives the CYA time to work."

"I see." Dr. Sylvester picked up Rob's chart and studied it for a moment. Then he looked up at Rob. "So, you have a chronic acne condition."

"Yeah," Rob said.

"Have you been on erythromycin for that?"

Rob shook his head. "Tetracycline. I'm allergic to erythromycin."

Sylvester nodded. "Did you take a pill before the launch?"

"Yeah, about ten minutes before. Why?"

"Bingo!" Sylvester exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "There you have it, gentlemen. Chelation. That's the answer we're looking for."

"Chelation?" Epstein said.

"Yes. You see, tetracycline binds chemically with calcium. When the CYA entered Rob's system, most of it locked onto the tetracycline, thus rendering it harmless."

"Unbelievable," Burrows said. "You're one lucky puppy, Colonel."

"Yeah," Rob said. "I knew that."

"I can't rule out permanent nerve damage, Rob," Sylvester said. "I want you to come back three weeks from now for more tests."

"Okay," Rob said. He looked at Epstein. "Does this mean I qualify for disability?"

"It does."

******

"I've turned over a new leaf," Rob explained to Theo, as they moved Rob's stuff out of his apartment. "I'm going to crusade for disarmament."

"That's very noble," Theo replied, "but you won't be able to afford Porsches and video games on a crusader's salary."

Rob patted the back of the disconnected Skyhunter, which he had donated to the local mall. "That's okay. It's just a game, and now it's over. I've saved the world once. That's enough for anybody."

"What did you think of the President's speech?"

"Propaganda," Rob said. "It'll never happen unless we make it happen." His gaze swept around the room. He was giving it all up: the models, the centerfolds, the guns. He had lived for so long in the ashes of his own dreams, the dark corners of dead-end streets, the empty pleasures of the fast lane. It was time to become a kid again, to see the world with brand-new eyes and want it all-not for himself, but to share. One man could make a difference-even a self-proclaimed failure of a man. There was so much to do, to learn, to discover. He had gone to the ends of the Earth and even out to space to find freedom from his own sense of worthlessness, but in the end he found that freedom in the most unlikely place of all-inside himself.

The boom of thunder interrupted his thoughts. "We'd better hurry," Theo said. "It's going to cut loose." Even as he spoke, big drops of rain spattered the ground outside in dramatic confirmation.

"Hey Theo," Rob said abruptly. "Have you ever stopped to enjoy the rain?"

Theo looked dumbfounded. "What?"

Rob grabbed his football. "Com'on," he invited, and dashed for the door.

"Are you crazy?" his friend demanded, as Rob leaped out into the rain. "Stupid question," Theo muttered, and ran after him.

******

Now that the crisis was over, George Fox was anxious to get back to Colorado and resume his search for the alien and his half-breed son. But at the President's request, he had remained in Washington to debrief cosmonaut Murova, who had agreed to an interview.

"Anything else?" Fox asked wearily, after two grueling hours of questioning. The boring interview had made him irritable and restless, and he had left the conference table over an hour ago. Since then, he had paced back and forth or stood-coffee cup in hand-by the room's sole window, which looked over the Potomac. He longed to be back on the hunt.

Ms. Murova had been watching him with great interest all through the interview. She could tell that Fox was a hunter, and when she looked at him she saw a man haunted by the long, fruitless pursuit of his elusive prey. A man who had sacrificed himself for the chase-and for what? She felt sorry for him.

"There is one thing I don't understand," she said, as she watched the government agent gaze out at the river. "Just before he decided not to shoot me, Mr. Barnes said, 'You were right, Scotty. But I didn't expect you to be blue.' But when I asked him who Scotty was, he said he didn't know anyone with that name."

Fox whirled around. "Scotty? Blue?" he blurted. "Oh my God." He jogged to the door and threw it open. "Wylie! Wylie..." The agent continued to repeat the name as he retreated down the long hallway outside. Cosmonaut Murova sat in stunned silence as his voice faded away, then said resignedly, "Americans. They're all so strange." She shrugged and left the room. Tomorrow she and the Buran would go back to the Soviet Union, and she wanted to do some sight-seeing before she left. This unexpected trip to America would be brief, but it would be anything but boring.

******

It had been a busy week for Paul and Scott. Paul was working hard at the photography studio, Scott was registering for school, and they had rented a small apartment. Right now they were watching Robert Barnes tell his story to Larry King.

Paul was watching Scott more intently than the TV. His son seemed to have an extreme interest in the young astronaut and his harrowing adventure. Paul, sensing the psychic connection between them, quietly took out his sphere and lightly probed the hidden rails of his son's unconscious mind. And in that moment, he alone saw the part of Rob's story that was missing.

His heart was pounding as he put the sphere away. His son had helped save the world, though he might never be aware of it. And with his unique alien perspective, Paul alone could realize why Scott had been involved in what happened.

He understood that the Universe did not plunge blindly into the future. The presence of consciousness could not determine the path of that future, but it could influence it. The planetary consciousness of the Earth was passionately opposed to the use of nuclear weapons, and that proved to be the crucial foundation for what had happened. The "Snowstorm" crisis had threatened to send the world over the brink, and in desperate times desperate measures were sometimes taken. The Universe reached into all the possible futures and pulled back the one link that could avoid the horrific carnage of a thermonuclear holocaust. Stranger things had happened. Paul's people had learned that sometimes, shadows are more real than the objects that cast them. The Universe never revealed all its secrets once and for all. That was part of the joy of exploring it.

Paul forced himself out of his private thought pattern and let the world back in again. He looked at his watch. "I have to go to work, Scott."

"Oh. Okay, have a good day." Scott was clearly wrapped up in the program, but he broke away for a second. "You know, I'm thinking about getting a part-time job after school."

"Good," Paul said. "Then you can buy one of those video things."

"A SKYHUNTER? Nah, it's just a game." Scott turned his attention back to the TV. He gestured at Robert. "It's funny. I feel like I know him for some reason. But I don't."

Paul smiled. "Maybe not. But I think you will."

NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I wrote SNOWSTORM in 1989, neither I or anyone else imagined how different the world would become over the next few years. The old Soviet Union collapsed, eastern Europe gave up communism, and most countries in the area became allies, why others sadly dissolved in new wars. It's uncertain just yet how this Brave New World will unfold, but the end of the Cold War is certainly good news.

SNOWSTORM is, as before, a cautionary tale about the hazards of threats and war. It is my hope that one day we will no longer need or use such methods in our dealings with our fellow beings.

Thanks to: Sandra S. and Todd A. for "Hope For Peace in the Darkest Hour." It was the best present I ever got!

To Dr. John C, Merlin B, Nolan Le, and Brad D for techno guru info. To Lisa S for outstanding pizza service. To Gram, Desertgal, and Vicki for top-notch editing. To my family for tolerance...to Head Cheerleader Helen K; Ann, Vicki, Victoria, Chris for publicity...to Chris M for braving the first draft...to Benjamin and Nathan, Best Buddies...to all who commented and bought the story and voted for the Fan-Q nomination...all my thanks and hopes!

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